


who cares if these wounds never mend

by youremyqueen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Intercrural Sex, Kink Meme, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Pain, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 03:30:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youremyqueen/pseuds/youremyqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn't undress much, just climbs onto him without taking her hand away from the scars that mark him up and down, like maybe if she doesn't keep a hold on them, they'll mend all of their own accord, and leave nothing but the smooth, golden skin that used to cover him.</p><p>Written for a got/asoiaf kink meme, prompt was: scar kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	who cares if these wounds never mend

He's torn up in pieces and Cersei was supposed to be the paste that stuck them back together, but Cersei won't look at him, and he sympathizes with that - he tends not to look at himself, either. Brienne looks, though, with the big blue eyes that are supposed to be the only appealing thing about her, but right now, with his cock in her hand and her fingers tracing the cuts on his chest, it's all so damned appealing that he's no idea what to do with himself.

 _'Don't,'_ he thinks he ought to say, because he should want to hide the scars, bury them deep like he buries the rest of himself, but for some ridiculous reason that probably has a lot to do with his straining cock, he doesn't. Instead, he thrusts his hips against her strong palm and tips his head back, maybe smiles, until she takes his chin and kisses him, earnestly, like she's doing her duty, and his smile slips away with the rest of his clothes.

She doesn't undress much, just climbs onto him without taking her hand away from the scars that mark him up and down, like maybe if she doesn't keep a hold on them, they'll mend all of their own accord, and leave nothing but the smooth, golden skin that used to cover him.

He huffs under her weight, almost amused. "You're crushing me," he says.

"Sorry," she says against his chest, but the _you can take it_ is implied in her voice, in the way that she doesn't make a move to get up.

She does crush him, holds him down and drags her fingers against all his bumps and bruises, those that will fade and those that won't, trailing one hand down his arm until she's just above the wrist, just at the edge, where the gold clashes with the sickly sort of pale that his skin has become of late. She wraps her thighs around his waist and squeezes at the same time as she grips the golden hand and pulls, and something way down under his skin cracks open and spills across his insides, and the pain in his wrist is sharp and staggering, even as he bucks against her, making an angry, stilted sound in the back of his throat that could be a curse, but is more likely a whimper.

"Did that hurt?" Brienne asks, throwing the golden hand on the ground, because she already knows the answer.

"No," he lies, just because it doesn't matter what he says.

She almost smiles, soft and sympathetic and somehow not at all smug, which is so foreign to him, because anyone else would revel in his pain - _he_ revels in his pain, fights with it the way he can no longer with a sword - but her focus isn't on the way it hurts, she just likes the scars it leaves behind.

He gasps as she presses her mouth to them, one at a time, and she's right on top of him, right up against him, and still he's not inside of her, but he doesn't think it really matters. The pain is in him, her fingers are against his scars, and it's hot and close and quiet, but for his heavy breathing and that - that's enough. She barely touches his cock with her thighs, her cunt, but she presses and kneads at his scarred and broken flesh, and makes him buck and gasp, makes him come.

He jerks and shakes like something helpless and small, but when he opens his eyes she's standing up, staring at him, and that makes him feel a bit better, a bit more grounded.

"Did that hurt?" she asks again, still with that gentle, earnest smile.

And he doesn't think he can lie this time, doesn't even think he can speak at all, so he just smiles back, hazy and maybe a bit healed.


End file.
